Page 7 of The Duke of Deceit

Worse—by not marrying her, he’d forced her to give up her child to Maeve and her husband. Oh, the baby would be loved, certainly, and brought up with the same care as their other two children. But, dear heavens, the loss to Amanda… How would her sister ever be able to bear it?

The whole situation was agonizing! If they had male relatives, Crewe would have been called out: marry Amanda, or face pistols at ten paces. But Amanda and Jess had no one to defend them. No brothers, no uncles, no male cousins…no father. Leopold St Claire had abandoned them when they were just teenage girls, only a few years after they’d lost their mother. They’d been barely out of the schoolroom yet still old enough to realize the drunken wastrel their father had become, that he caused more problems in their lives than he solved, that he was dragging them down with him—and for Jess to tell him all that, too. If he couldn’t be a good father, she’d told him, then it was better not to have him in their lives at all.

So he left and never returned home.

Jess never forgave herself for her outburst. She had prayed every night that he would come back to them, but he never returned, only to die two years later of fever in the Caribbean. Or so they were told. Knowing Leopold, he’d probably died of the pox in some London slum, too drunk on gin to crawl out of the filth to find a doctor to save him. Not that he would have possessed any money to pay for treatment anyway. All his money had gone to the stills and brothels. Always had.

The two sisters had no one except each other and Matilda, their late mother’s aunt, and so Jess had no choice but to protect Amanda herself.

She knew exactly how to do it, too. The rake had destroyed her sister, so Jess would destroy the rake.

It was that simple.

“Some aristocrats cherish their estates and grand townhouses, others their wine cellars and stables,” she explained as she crossed the room and stopped in front of the low tea table. She lifted the lid off the teapot and peered inside, then wrinkled her nose at how cold the tea had become without her realizing it, so caught up had she been with her list. “The Duke of Crewe, however, relishes being the most despicable, immoral peer in the realm, and he most likely does it so he never has to answer to anyone about anything. Those who fear darkening their own reputations stay far away, and he gets to enjoy the most debauched pleasures London has to offer, without caring one whit what anyone thinks of him. Just think of it, Auntie…all the debauched pleasures his fortune can buy, yet none of the guilt.”

“So he’s a typical young aristocrat, then.”

“He makes those men look like toddlers in leading strings in comparison.” With a shake of her head, Jess gave up on the idea of tea and returned the lid with a soft clink. “Never has another man so carefully constructed such a dark reputation as Crewe.He wears his blackness like a badge of honor.” She selected a cinnamon biscuit from the plate and jabbed it at Matilda as she made her point. “So that is exactly where I am aiming my arrows.”

“Hmm.” Auntie set down her tea and once more picked up her knitting needles. “Sometimes arrows go astray and wound innocent people.”

“Not if the archer is careful.” She smiled as she nibbled at the biscuit. “And I plan on being very,verycareful.”

Auntie shook her head. Click-click-click. “You’re not William Tell, my dear.” Click-click-clickety-click. “You like apples too much.”

Hiding a bewildered frown at that concerned—if utterly confusing—chastisement, Jess walked over to the door and tugged at the bell pull to call for the butler to collect the tea things. “I plan on taking him from rakehell to respectable in society’s eyes.” She smiled at the quiet genius of her plan. “I’ll take away all the bite from the vicious dog until he’s viewed as nothing more than an ordinary mongrel. The only thing that will stop me is his agreement to marry Amanda and give her child a father.”

“An irredeemably black-hearted, scandalous, licentious, libertine for a father?”

Jess let out a patient breath. “The child will havea father, regardless of his reputation. That’s what matters most.”

Amanda wouldn’t have to give up her baby, and her baby wouldn’t be a bastard. It was that simple.

She sank down onto the settee across from Auntie and once more failed to figure out what on earth the dear woman was attempting to knit. Bunches of yarn went off in all directions until it resembled a fuzzy octopus.

“And that’s why I’ve made my lists,” Jess continued. “I’m stirring his reputation’s pot by spreading rumors that hisdebauched behavior is nothing but lies and exaggerations, that he hasn’t been ravishing prostitutes but saving them, and that, although he truly does love to gamble—after all, what proper gentleman doesn’t?—all his winnings go anonymously to charities.”

Nottooanonymously, though, of course, and not too obviously, either. It wouldn’t do for her to completely wring his reputation inside-out too soon because all his denials would only add fuel to the fire, not quash it. No, a slow brush fire was best so he could see exactly the damage she was capable of committing against his reputation and how determined she was to cast him into the flames if he didn’t do the responsible thing.

“The only way to make things right is for Crewe to marry Amanda,” Jess insisted. Then she added in a low mumble, “Even if I have to force him.”

“Your plan to turn him good does sound intriguing, I’ll admit.” Matilda kicked her yarn ball away with her foot, unspooling it across the rug. “Perhaps just as diabolical as Crewe’s determination to paint himself with pitch.”

“Thank you…I think.” Her confused frown transformed into a pleased smile. “And any perceived goodness that manages to stick to him by the end will only make life easier for Amanda as his wife.”

“You mean ashis duchess.” Auntie looked up at Jess over the wire rims of her spectacles, and her needles stilled. “And that’s why your plan won’t work in the end. Because he isn’t a man.”

“Pardon?” Jess blinked at that. She’d seen the man with her own eyes. Lucien Grenier was very much a man.

“He is a duke.”

Her mouth softened into an amused smile. “The two are not mutually exclusive, Auntie.”

“Hmph.” Matilda kicked the yarn ball again. “They’ve always seemed so to me.”

Jess knew better than to chase that argument. “I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“He’s a duke, and a duke would never marry a woman like Amanda, even if he’s gotten her with child.” She set down her knitting with a frustrated sigh. “We’re on the fringes of society at best, no matter how beautiful, well-educated, interesting, or talented you and your sister are. And you areverytalented.”